


Aesthetics of Hate

by khalisey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Incest, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Step-Sibling Incest, Step-siblings, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 08:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khalisey/pseuds/khalisey
Summary: Hate is a strong word but not nearly strong enough to describe how much you abhor your asshole of a step-brother.





	Aesthetics of Hate

**Author's Note:**

> What started out as a very small idea, this story literally took on a life of its own. Inspired a little by Cruel Intentions but without all some of the seduction and none of the warped ending. Forget everything about their pasts, this is entirely AU and I know Dean would be like 25/26 when this is set so lets just ignore the fact he still lives with his Daddy and enjoy.

You hate Dean Winchester as much as he hates you. It’s a win-win situation that only the person stood in the crossfire of your contempt for each other is going to lose and that person unfortunately was usually your mother.

She married for love three years ago but that love unfortunately brought with him his two sons Dick One and Dick Two, settling them into the house you had shared with her for most of your teenage years before the Winchesters barged in and set up camp. Dick Two— or Sam, wasn’t all bad - he was a nice guy with an ass like a peach but always ended up the mediator when you and Dick One would argue. Dick One, on the other hand, was a complete and utter— _dick_.

The moment Dean swaggered into your house, dumping his dirty belongings and wiping his muddy feet onto your mom’s pristine white carpet before clicking his fingers at you to clean it up, you despised the sight of him. He thought he was a archangel or something when in reality, he was just a lazy douche-bag who ate and drank too much and brought back slutty girls to nail in his room which you had the misfortune of hearing due to the paper thin walls between your adjoining rooms.

You did your best to keep your distance from him but no matter what, Dean would always appear when you least expected it and managed to get on every last one of your remaining nerves. Making dinner, he’s there. Clothes shopping, he’s there. Out with friends, he’s there. It’s like he purposely goes out of his way to fuck with you, to get a rise out of you so he looks better in the eyes of your parents when you complain.

_“Why can’t you kids get along?”_ Your mom would sigh.

_“Dean’s a great kid once you get to know him.”_ John would defend. But it was no use. You didn’t want to get to know him. You wanted to smother him with a fucking pillow.

* * *

The smell of fried food wakes you, the sweet aroma of bacon and eggs wafting under your nose as you hurry to dress. Mom must be making John breakfast.

You trudge down the stairs, still a little tender from the previous night before Dean rudely crashed the party and hit on all but one of your friends, rubbing at your eyes as you skulk into the kitchen, desperate for a cup of coffee.

Bile burns your throat as your eyes fall to Dean piling food onto his plate while Sam sits quietly at the opposite end of the island, a small cup of coffee in hand. Mom and John are nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Mom?” You ask, aiming the question at Sam.

“Don’t you remember? She and Dad went away for the weekend.” Dean pipes up before Sam even has a chance to open his mouth. He throws the dirty pan into the sink with a loud clatter before slumping onto a stool and starts shovelling food into his mouth.

Shit. Of course. You totally forgot. You’d been dreading this weekend for months knowing that you’d be alone with just them for a few days. You’d tried make excuses to be elsewhere for the duration like staying at a friend’s but they all had plans. Guess you’ll just have to lock yourself in your room for the weekend and binge Netflix while you whittle away at this hangover.

Reaching for the coffee, your gaze catches something red and... lacy draped over the counter. Your face drops in disgust, hooking your finger around as little material as possible, afraid of what you might catch.

“Really Dean? In the kitchen?”

“What you never licked hot fudge sauce off a dude before?” He scoffs, shoving three slices of bacon into his mouth. What a pig.

Scrunching up your nose, you fling the lace-whatever-the-hell-it-is at him. “Not that it’s any of your business but no, I haven’t. I’m not desperate like you to screw everyone in this damn town to satisfy whatever fucked up needs you got okay?”

He mumbles, chewing on a piece of sausage but you can’t quite make it out.

“Can you not talk with your mouth full? It’s disgusting.”

“Your friend last night wasn’t complaining when I was tongue deep in her pus—“

“Dean!” Sam interrupts. You almost forget he’s sat at the end of the island, nose deep in a book when he looks up giving you an almost sympathetic smile. How on earth has he not murdered this sonofabitch already?

You tsk loudly, finally pouring yourself a mug before hurrying past him and from the room, Dean’s voice carrying out into the hall alongside you as he shouts something probably scathing that you don’t have the stomach to respond to.

Your memories of the night before flood back to you as you ascend the stairs; the banshee screams of the girl inside Dean’s room rattling around inside your skull, a flood of nausea filling your belly. That was your friend in there making those noises— Dean extracting those whimpers and groans, his throaty staccato moans interspersed with hers while you laid mere feet from the origin of the cries, trying to sing over the sounds, hands clasped between your knees to stop yourself from coming with him.

* * *

It’s 2am when you wake up, the front door slamming followed by a fit of girlish giggles. Your TV blares loudly, casting a ghostly glow across the room lengthening and manipulating the shadows into macabre shapes. Rolling over to your nightstand you gulp down some lukewarm water to soothe your scratchy throat. Grabbing the remote, you switch the TV onto mute with the intention of falling back to sleep just as you hear Dean’s baritone voice echo through the wall to your room.

_“God that fuckin’ mo—uth.”_ He praises whoever he’s talking to and you feel your cunt prickle hot at the sound. You pull the pillow over your head but it does nothing to stifle the noise of her mumbles in agreement as Dean continues to talk dirty, the next words out of his mouth making wetness clog your pyjama shorts.

_“You gonna choke on it like a good little slut?”_

You can’t stop yourself this time, your knees too weak to hold your hands between them. Fingers dancing up your thighs, you tremble hearing Dean’s constant praise at whatever she’s doing to him. Eyes flickering closed, you block out everything zoning in on Dean’s voice to carry you to your peak.

You’re so absorbed by the heat coiling in your belly, your release building and building—

“What the hell Y/N—“

“Dean! Shit! What the fuck?” You yell, jolting upright hurrying to cover your rising embarrassment. Your eyes fall over his broad frame filling the doorway, a bath sheet wrapped tight around his taut waist which barely contains his erection. Your stomach flips at the sight, your stare lingering a little too long on his groin and he has to cough to get your attention.

Clicking your tongue loudly, you sulk as if you’re entitled to be mad for the intrusion when in truth you’re frustrated you’ve been caught and he’s the one who caught you. “What do you want Dean?”

“Look I get it, we all have nightmares but you’re kinda upstaging the show. Y’know how hard I had to work to get this chick?” He notices the look of shame flushing your cheeks scarlet, “Shit, you weren’t screaming over a monster chasing you were ya?”

You were screaming, yes. Over a monster that wears your stepbrother’s face? Yes. God, this is humiliating. Dean’s lips curl into a filthy smirk as he tilts to lean against the door frame crossing his muscular arms over his chest. His skin glistens with a small sheen of sweat and you have to swallow hard to quash the rising heat swirling in your belly. Fuck sake. Why’d you wanna nail this egomaniac so bad?

“You were getting off on that weren’t you?” He nods in amusement towards the wall.

“Jesus, don’t flatter yourself.” You scoff nervously, squirming beneath your covers.

Dean pushes himself off the frame, arms falling to his sides and strides towards you, his cock hypnotising you as it bounces off his thigh. You don’t want him to come any closer, the thick scent of sex and whiskey practically dripping off him.

“My my, someone doesn’t hate me as much as they fuckin’ pretend to, do they?” He halts at the side of your bed hands propped on his pelvis, deliberately framing his bulge that still sits at full thickness. You catch a glimpse of the glorious V shaping his hips and your cunt reacts, the mattress beneath you completely water-logged.

“Fuck you Dean.” You manage to croak with a slither of authority.

He bares his teeth into a wide smile, “Oh, you just say the word princess.”

“Hadn’t you better get back to your friend?”

For a second you think he’s going to crawl into bed and give you the pounding you hate yourself for fantasising about but he doesn’t. He bends at the waist, curling his hands into fists and glides them across the covers until he’s leaning over you, face centimetres from yours. Gulping painfully, you try to wash down the hunger eating away at you as Dean’s smirk returns only this time it’s laced with a little more wickedness.

“Why the fuck would I wanna do that when there’s something far riper laying right in front of me?” The words wash over you like scalding water but delightfully licking at every nerve ending causing them to spark with voraciousness. 

“Dean—“

An unhealthy silence grows between you, neither of you knowing what to do except knowing what you want to do. The light from the TV bathes him in a warm glow, complimenting the flush of colour to his cheeks as you nibble on your lower lip, naively waiting for him to make a move. Your eyes flicker wildly between his mouth and his stare which you swear keeps flashing amber in the dim light. Dean edges a little closer; warmth pouring from his body, heating you from the inside out. A deep, hollow breath whooshes from your pursed lips; time slowing to a crawl before a horrid squeak calls out to him down the hall. 

“Dean?” 

His body snaps upright in shock, pulling the both of you out of your locked trance.

“Can’t leave a lady waiting all wet, now can we?” 

Sensing the tone in his voice, you know he’s mocking you. Mocking your predicament. He’s almost giddy at the fact that he knows exactly what you’re going to do after he swaggers back to his room and fucks her till she’s wailing his name. You know he was trying before but you can tell he’s definitely going to put on an Oscar-worthy performance especially now he knows he has an audience. Dean Winchester always was a show off. Arrogant ass-hole. 

He gives you one last lingering look, the conceited grin smothered across his lips making you reel, before sauntering to the hallway chuckling to himself. “I’ll save ya a seat at breakfast honey.” He winks before slinking out the door.

It takes all of ten minutes and Dean calling your name through the wall as he comes for you to ride out your own hedonistic release, biting hard on your lip to stop yourself from shouting his back in return.

* * *

You sleep in till noon but it wasn’t without interruptions. Dean’s friend didn’t take too well to being called someone else in the throes of passion. You remember hearing her storm from the room the moment he finished, screeching expletives as he casually laughed it off. You remember the house rattling in its foundations as she slammed the door behind her followed by an eerie silence. And you remember drifting off, sinking into the comfort of your mattress in the midst of a post-orgasmic fog accompanied by the strangely soothing sounds of Dean’s snores. 

As you wake, your mind is glad you missed breakfast but your stomach isn’t. It rumbles almost on cue desperate for some nutrition and a hefty dose of coffee. The house is quiet as you quickly shower, the soft strokes of your fingertips while you wash makes your cunt pulsate, reminding you of last night. 

The heavenly smell of coffee lingers all the way down the stairs as you make your way to the kitchen, shouting out to Sam in the hopes he’s around somewhere. You need a distraction, something to keep you busy to take your mind off the burning still sitting uncomfortably between your thighs. Taking each step with trepidation, you constantly glance around in case Dean appears but all is silent. 

The kitchen is empty and the coffeemaker is full. Thank God. You pour yourself a cup, spooning two sugars into the dark liquid and give it a generous stir as you notice the tray of croissants sitting in the middle of the island. God bless you Sam Winchester. You grab one, hurriedly stuffing it into your mouth as a deep, gravelly cough behind you makes you jump. Turning on the balls of your feet, you come face to face with the one Winchester brother you really don’t want to see.

“Well good morning honey.” Dean drawls with a smile, the sweet smell of fresh pine and musk wafting under your nostrils as he takes a small step towards you. Your eyes drift over him; tiny water droplets cling to his hair and trickle down the curve of his neck before pooling on the collar of his white t-shirt. Finding yourself wanting to lick them away, you try to chew your croissant but your mouth is dry and now all it tastes like is wood chip. You start to chug it down with a swig of coffee but splutter as the mixture clogs in your throat. Dean almost looks concerned as you choke before managing to swallow it with a painful gulp. Placing the cup in the sink you cough again to clear the remnants of food from your throat.

“You finished dying yet?”

“Just about. And thanks for stepping into help Dean, really appreciate it.” You reply sarcastically.

“I mean it wasn’t exactly what I fantasised you choking on but never mind.” 

You’re thankful your mouth is devoid of food or drink otherwise you probably would have spat it out at his feet. You decide to ignore his comment even though every fibre in your body is screaming at you to ride this fuck until you’re finally satisfied but you’re far too stubborn.

“Where’s Sam?”

He sighs heavily, clearly pissed off you’re not in the mood to play his game. “Think he went to Jess’ to study.” 

_Shit. Fuck._ Why couldn’t he be here to save you from this forbidden fantasy? 

“Oh.” The dejection in your voice is thick as you turn on your heel, scuttling to the door but Dean’s too quick. He slides in front of you, arm stretched out against the island edge and blocks your path. 

“So— you just gonna pretend like last night never happened?” 

“Nothing happened last night.”

His arm drops to his side in exasperation as he scoots closer to you, the scowl on his face saying everything his voice doesn’t. Towering over you, his warm breath blows gently against your cheek. Slowly, you glance up at him unamused. 

“Tell me you didn’t come imagining me fucking you.”

“Dean, don’t.”

“Tell me and I’ll move. We can go back to hating each other and we’ll never mention this again.”

“Who said I stopped hating you?”

“Y/N.”

You lick your lips ready to lie to his face but the words stall in your throat. Closing your eyes in frustration, you let out a deep breath ready to try again before letting your eyelids flicker open with a surprised start. Dean stands even closer now, your bodies almost touching and you can feel the heat pouring off him like a radiator. 

You muster every drop of disdain for the man-child stood before you, twisting your mouth hard into a scowl. “If you think for a second Dean Winchester, that I would ever want to fuck you then you really are a narcissistic prick.”

He looks so sure that you’d crumble but your response takes him by surprise. “You’re such a fuckin’ brat.” He spits with venom.

“Takes one to know one doesn’t it?” You step sideways, edging to get past him but he blocks your route out. “Do you mind?”

Dean slides out of your way hands up as if to surrender, his jaw clenched tight as you begin to slink past him, a painful warmth lacing your cunt. Once out of Dean’s sight, you throw your back to the hallway wall to catch the breath you’ve been holding in, trying to mobilise the energy to drag your wanton body back up the stairs.

* * *

The next couple of weeks pass without incident, the both of you doing everything in your power to avoid the other. Mom and John returned from their trip, expecting the five of you to spend time together as a family but you had other ideas. You purposely worked overtime to dodge dinner and Dean would be out of the house before the crack of dawn to make sure he wasn’t around for breakfast.

But you couldn’t escape him at night.

Not when he went out of his way to bring home the sluttiest of girls, the ones who would do things that made you blush beneath the covers while you silently got yourself to orgasm, knowing that every groan, command and plead for him to fuck them harder was all for your benefit. You dreaded sleep, even opting to take the couch for the night one time when Dean brought home the most vocal of all his sluts. Her screams alone shook the house without even bringing in the incessant noise of the headboard slamming against the wall into the equation. After her, John banned all “late night visitors” from the house much to Dean’s dismay. You, on the other hand, were giddy with glee.

It’s late when you arrive home from work, Dean’s Impala taunting you from the drive, the flash of silver of the bumper the last thing you see before the front door clicks closed. You hoped with the length of overtime you agreed to tonight, still anxious to keep your distance, that he’d be out and you could have some peace.

No such luck.

You drop your keys and handbag onto the dresser, desperate to relax in a long, hot bubble bath to melt away the day before sneaking to the stairs until you hear the sound of John bellowing to you.

“Y/N, could you come in here a minute please?” Your shoulders drop defeated, dragging your feet as you turn on your heel and head in the direction of his voice. You enter the dining room wearily, John and your Mom sit one side of the table and Dean the other.

“Um, what’s going on?” You say with a hint of scepticism.

“Sit,” John replies, watching as you cautiously slide into the seat next to Dean, the scent of motor oil, leather and his woody aftershave clouding your senses. Heat instantly coils tight in your belly, your clit pulsing at the memory of last night; hearing him croak your name as he pleasured himself while you came painfully silent, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much you want him despite your stubbornness. The reminder of your climax makes your body itch and you debate moving seats so you’re not suffocating under his spell but you’re committed now. “Me and your mom have had enough of whatever the hell is going on between the two of you. So you’re gonna sort it out right now.”

“There’s nothing to sort. I hate his guts, simple as that.”

“Likewise princess.” Dean retorts as his hand reaches out underneath the table and slides it teasingly across your thigh. Breath collapsing in your throat, a wave of blinding heat overwhelms you causing your pussy to flood monumentally. You glance sideways at him with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw as he reciprocates your look with a smug smile.

“Stop it both of you! Y/N, whether you like it or not, Dean’s your brother now, show him some respect.” Your mom cries, her face shrouded in despair. At the last word, you feel Dean’s hand squeeze your leg almost tauntingly. He’s enjoying this.

“He is not my fucking brother.”

“Y/N—“ John butts in.

“As for respect?” The word tastes like poison on your tongue. You can’t believe they’re asking you to respect this jerk. “The minute he stops acting like an self-centred asshole and bringing disease-ridden whores back to my house, then I might consider it.”

“ _Your_ house?” Dean says in disbelief, snatching his hand back off your thigh. Snapping your head to face him, you’re met with a look of disgust.

“I was here first so yes, _my_ house. You’re just a cockroach Dean, feeding off of everyone else, the sooner you’re squashed the better.” 

“The sooner you remove the stick from your uptight ass the better you spoilt little cunt.”

“Dean!” John shouts angrily.

You’re gone from the room in a flash, bolting up the stairs as angry tears burn your cheeks. You can hear your mom calling your name and John’s booming voice yelling at Dean as you fling yourself onto your bed and cry, frustration simmering in your veins.

* * *

A soft tapping against your open door has you choking down one last sob before you slowly sit up. Wiping at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand, you turn to face the owner of the knock. 

_Dean._ He’s got some fucking nerve.

“I suggest you get the fuck out of my room before I haul this lamp at you.” Contempt drips from your voice, watching as he slowly strides towards you.

“I come in peace.” He holds his hands up passively. 

You shimmy off the bed and charge over to him, fists balled up at your sides. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Look, I’m just here to get your apology and then I’ll be gone.”

The frustration inside you reaches boiling point and you explode in his face, your screams piercing your throat. “My apology? My apology?! Fuck you!” 

You raise your hand, palm connecting with his face harshly; the sharp rip of skin shredding skin echoing in your ears. Lifting your hand once more, you attempt to hit him again but this time Dean is prepared and grabs your wrist in mid-air. In one fluid motion he spins you round, forcing you against the open door and pushes you backwards until it slams closed. Pinned between the door and Dean, you’re left with no chance of escape. 

“Feel better for that do ya?” He hisses, the cool of his breath tickling your cheek.

“Not in the fucking slightest.”

Dropping your wrist, he leans in suddenly crashing his lips violently against yours sending your head smacking into the door behind you. You heave at the pain before it melts into a dull ache, the sensation of Dean’s mouth on yours diverting your attention elsewhere. You snake your arms around his neck pulling him tight into you as Dean’s hand finds its way to your waist, thumbing your jeans open and thrusts a hand down between your thighs. Despite the fury burning inside your belly, you’re already dripping wet; the feeling of his fingertips gliding through your folds thaws your anger into something far more salacious. Palm up, he roughly pushes two fingers inside you invoking a shrill shriek from the depths of your diaphragm. 

“Feels better when I’m doing it for real doesn’t it?” He breathes against your lips.

“Uh-huh.” You lament pathetically in response, your teeth clamping around Dean’s bottom lip causing him to mimic you, the deep vibrations of his moans sending ripples of heat right down to your pussy. Your hands drop to his hips, the pads of your fingers tracing the perfect V lines you haven’t been able to get out of your head; the same ones you want to mark and blemish with your teeth. With tentative stokes you begin to massage his thickening cock against the outside of his pants, Dean’s rasps gravelly in your ear as he tells you how good it feels.

You disintegrate against Dean’s skilful fingers, each retraction making you sigh at the emptiness before he propels them back inside you, curling them to massage your g-spot. Your peak is soon in sight, flames of heat licking at your pussy as Dean’s thumb brushes over your clit while his fingers rhythmically draw out your high. You can feel it; right on the cusp, a wave about to break—

Dean’s fingers still abruptly, slipping his hand away entirely as you whine in despair, the first ripples of your orgasm ebbing to a soreness that leaves your cunt feeling blisteringly hot.

Turning you round he pins you back against the door, his hands peeling you out of your pants, sliding them down your legs. Dean edges your knees apart, allowing him full access to your now free and naked pussy, his fingers stroking through your wetness prepping you for what’s to come.

“Still hate me?” He hums.

“Can’t stand the sight of yo— ou.” Your voice breaks as Dean drills his fingers back inside you, scissoring you open. Like the strike of a match, the raging in your belly re-ignites in a matter of milliseconds.

As soon as it flickers to life Dean snatches it away, his fingers leaving a damp trail in their wake as you hear him hastily relieve himself of his pants and the soft thud of them pooling to the floor has your heart leaping into your chest knowing where this is going to lead. You know you should stop this, Dean is your “brother”, but the yearning to have him bury himself inside your cunt is beyond vehement.

Pressure replaces the brief moment of cool air licking at your sticky thighs, the tip of Dean’s cock tight against your entrance. He sinks slowly into your warmth opening you up like a flower coming into bloom, your body sagging against his as he fills you up to the hilt and it’s nothing short of exquisite.

He starts to rock his hips, the thickness of his erection pulling at your walls and you let out a scream, Dean’s hand hurrying to stifle it beneath his palm. Leaning in his lips graze your neck, trailing a damp path of kisses up to your ear.

“As much as I love hearing you fuckin’ scream you gotta keep quiet… unless you want _Mom and Dad_ to catch you getting fucked like a dirty little slut.” He whispers heavily.

Grabbing roughly at your waist, Dean pummels you into the door, your palms splayed wide against the wood arching your spine to give him a deeper angle and push back onto his shaft. Every drag stuffs you to the brim, familiar waves of torrid heat spreading through your pelvis right down to the tips of your toes.

His unyielding thrusts have you crying through his fingers, coming so hard you think you might black out. You can practically feel the smirk no doubt plastered across his face as you surrender to him, unravelling like wool on the end of his perfect fucking dick.

“Yeah? You like that? You like me fuckin’ you like you deserve, you spoilt bitch?”

“Mm-hhhmmmm.”

You always thought the sound of Dean coming was one of the hottest things you’d ever heard but it’s nothing compared to the deep, husky moans he makes in your ear as he impales you on his cock, pinching tight at the bountiful curves of your ass almost milking himself inside you. Breathlessly he pants your name against your shoulder, burying his teeth into your skin to stop himself from calling out as he shoots hot, thick ropes of cum deep into your womb. Listening to Dean growl through his high, remembering all those nights you came from his moans alone, forces another from you, pure white heat scorching through your cunt as your vision blurs momentarily.

By the time he pulls out, his sticky seed dribbling down your thighs, you’re sore as hell but your entire body tingles hot with a fervid complacency. You turn slowly slumping against the door, trying to catch your breath and Dean’s already pulling up his pants, the filthiest of smirks painted across his lips as he meets your gaze.

“How about now?”

“Fucking despise you.”

Dean treads a small step towards you, his throaty and amused laugh travelling straight to your core, “Feeling’s mutual sis.”


End file.
